Camryn Townsend has everything sheâs always dreamed ofâ¦an amazing family, supportive friends, and the perfect job. Everything a girl could want. Or is it? A trip back to her childhood home threatens to unravel her web of perfection.

Her problemâ¦sheâs in love with her best friend and sheâs too scared to sacrifice their friendship for a love sheâs always wanted.

Jamie Banksâ life is the epitome of perfection. His company is thriving, his band is on the cusp of stardom, and the girl he loves is returning home.

His problemâ¦the girl he loves has been his best friend for as long as he can remember and heâs not sure heâs ready to sacrifice his best friend for a lover. Pursuing a relationship with the possibility of losing her has him second-guessing everything he knows.

He leans down and moves his mouth over mine, devouring its softness. Slowly, I lift my arms around his neck, running my hands through his thick hair. I tug on his hair, not wanting this kiss to end.

When he pulls back, he leaves my mouth burning with fire.
With a wicked grin on his face, he points to the shower. âI have to get out of here before I have my way with you. Your brother is out there waiting. Go get a shower, cool off, do what you have to do to calm yourself down. But if I hear moaning, I am gonna be all over you whether your brother is here or not.â

I chuckle knowing what he is insinuating. Before he can move, I bite his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth. I release his bottom lip and place a soft kiss on it. âMr. Banks, I will have you know, if I plan on moaning, it would be because you made me, it wonât be self-induced.â

I push myself off the counter, walking over to turn on the shower. When I look over my shoulder Jamie is standing there, his jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed.

I am going to give him a show and drive him crazy. He thought he was cute when we were younger when he jumped naked into the pool at my birthday party, I am going to have a little fun with him today.

I pull the hem of tank top up and over my head, leaving me standing there topless. My back is facing Jamie, so he canât see my breasts. I slowly peel my sleep shorts off of my body, one leg at a time and toss them in his direction. When I turn around his muscle flicks angrily in his jaw. I fix my eyes on his. âDo you like what you see, Mr. Banks?â Knowing that he is going to lose his shit, I quickly get in the shower and shut the curtain behind me.

Peeking around the shower curtain, I squeal at the intrusion into my personal space as Jamie smirks at me saying so quietly that Iâm not entirely sure I heard him, âYou think youâre funny, donât you? Two can play at this game. You better pray the next time I see you naked, your brother isnât in the next room. Cause if he is, he will hear what you sound like when Iâm making you come with my mouth.â He reaches out and pauses mid-air as heâs about to stroke my breast. Instinctively, I lean toward his touch wanting his hand there, wanting him in here, knowing my brother is literally steps away from me grabbing him and pulling him into the shower with me. Inhaling a breath, never breaking eye contact with him, I moan, quiet enough that no one hears but he heard. Smirking at me with lust-filled eyes, he pulls his hand back, retreating the hand that was so close to the water beading on my nipple that my skin feels his absence and he never even touched me.

And he stalks out of the bathroom. Just like that.

Holy. Shit. I need to make this a cold shower after what he just said to me, after how he almost touched me. A smile spreads across my face as I hear the bathroom door shut. One for Cami, One for Jamie.

Why did I invite my brother with us again?

COPYRIGHT 2016 Unspoken Words by H.P. Davenport

About H.P. Davenport

Paralegal by day, romance genius by night! When she's not tending to her furry children and her handsome husband, HP DAVENPORT is seamlessly carving beautiful stories from her mind in her comfy PJs in New Jersey.

Did you know you can follow me on other social media besides Facebook? Here are my stalker links!

For spinster Lelia August, first came the small fortune then came the hoard of unscrupulous characters wanting a piece of itâor more specifically, a piece of her.

She decides to find a suitable man to marry, someone who won't want her to submit to the marriage bed. She settles on ex-soldier Phineas Moore, who has a reputation as a lover of men.

Phineas is intrigued by Leliaâs offer and thinks a marriage of convenience might just work for them. But when someone tries to kill his future wife, Phineas vows to protect her and find whoâs responsible. He hires the irresistible spy Rafe Gaudi to investigate, and soon realizes he's outsmarted himself. Can Rafe and Phineas figure out who's plotting against the woman theyâve come to love, and can they even hope to dream of a future where the three can become one?

âI have a business matter to discuss with you, Sir Phineas.â Lelia August studied the man who sat across from her, his large body stuffed into the tiny black lacquer chair stationed across from her desk. Somehow he should have appeared quite as ridiculous as all of the recent suitors who had wiggled their way into her library intent upon sweeping her, and her fortune, off her feet.

Contrarily, Phineas Moore appeared perfectly at ease, masculine, even somewhat predatory. His hair, black as a rook, was cut ruthlessly short, and his neckcloth was simple and unfashionable.

Had Lelia not done her research she would have thought him the simple country baronet he appeared. Instead, she knew his unfashionable appearance hid a complex man with a soldierâs mind and a surprising reputation among his peers.

âI confess I am curious, Miss August. That is why I find myself here, answering your summons.â His green eyes gleamed when he smiled slightly, lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling.

âI am glad you have that to satisfy. Makes you far more interesting. Tell me, what have you been able to discover about me in the last six hours?â She had sent her invitation to him at eight, which meant he would have received it around nine. He had arrived at five until three. She approved of his promptness.

âThat you are a spinster. That your father was the third son of an Earl. That your uncle passed away leaving the title to a cousin who has a great fondness for you, and heâs settled upon you a stipend of some considerable wealth. In a trust, so it cannot be siphoned off by his miserable, whoring, gaming brother.â His expression never changed during the telling, but he did study her closely.

Gracious, she was outclassed here. Lelia curled her hands together, keeping them from fluttering like nervous birds. No sense giving away her sudden nerves.

âThatâs quite a lot,â she said. âIf you know all that about me, then you know that since I have come into said fortune I have been deluged with suitors.â All shapes, sizes, and classes of men had been calling, so much so that sheâd taken the knocker from the door of the modest townhouse her cousin had also settled upon her. He liked her company, he said, and preferred she stayed in Town. Dear Eustace. Still, some of the men had been rather more forceful in their attentions than she felt necessary.

âHmm.â She wasnât sure at all that had been Eustaceâs intention. However, now he saw her difficulty, he had turned his eye toward that idea, if only to give her relief. Having just gained her independence from reliance on men, Lelia had no desire to go back. âHence my proposal to you.â

âI am on pins and needles,â Phineas murmured.

âYes. Well.â She squeezed her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white. âI realize we do not know one another, but you must realize, I have viewed my situation from every angle and I believe this is the best possible solution to my dilemma.â

âI want you to marry me.â The nausea left her as soon as she said it. Better to have it right out in the open.

The chair cracked, the two pieces of it falling away to either side while Sir Phineas crashed to the floor. His well-polished boots kicked the air for a moment before he sprang to his feet. âI beg your pardon?â

âI said, I wish to propose marriage. To you.â

Shock overtook his expression, and Phineas placed his hands on her desk, leaning into her space. This close she could smell the deep scent of tobacco and freshly pressed linen. âWhy?â

About the Author:

Julia Talbot lives in the great Southwest, where there is hot and cold running rodeo, cowboys, and everything from meat and potatoes to the best Tex-Mex. A full time author, Julia has been published by Samhain Publishing, Dreamspinner Press, All Romance eBooks and Changeling Press. She believes in stories that leave a mark, and that everyone deserves a happy ending, so she writes about love without limits, where boys love boys, girls love girls, and boys and girls get together to get wild, especially when her crazy paranormal characters are involved. Find Julia at @juliatalbot on Twitter.

For more information on other books by Julia, please visit her official website: www.JuliaTalbot.com

This was such a scrumptious read! I don't really read many regency romance books, but this one sounded too irresistible to resist. Let me just say- I was pleasantly surprised!The storyline was vigorous, the dialogue was witty and poignant, and the characters were snarky, lovable and completely interesting!While this book was written in the Regency period and the language reflects it- the romance is sizzling at 1000 degrees hot! Fast-paced and full of action with a sprinkling of humor and heaping cups of scorching romance- I thoroughly enjoyed this book!! There wasn't a single dull moment and I devoured this book as fast as I could! I'm definitely interested in seeing what else this author has up her sleeves!

Inside the Book:

Some teens go to the Caribbean on spring break. Piper goes to save the world.

Piper Dunn isn’t who you would call a normal teenager. For one thing, she doesn’t want anyone to know she was born with a blowhole. Even stranger, she has two love interests. Joel, a fellow dolphin-human hybrid, and Tyler, a human. It’s hard to choose when a mad scientist is hot on Piper’s trail.

Worse, she’s trapped in the Bermuda Triangle. And . . . wait for it . . . Angel, her test-tube daughter, is apparently a real-deal reincarnation. It all adds up to an impossible situation, with happy endings all but lost at sea. Unless, of course, a voodoo high priestess casts a spell or two . . .

Meet the Author:

Multi-published author Sandra Cox writes YA Fantasy, Paranormal and Historical Romance, and Metaphysical Nonfiction. She lives in sunny North Carolina with her husband, a brood of critters, and an occasional foster cat. Although shopping is high on the list, her greatest pleasure is sitting on her screened-in porch, listening to the birds, sipping coffee and enjoying a good book. She’s a vegetarian and a Muay Thai enthusiast. Readers can find Sandra at sandracox.blogspot.com, on Facebook, or at twitter.com@Sandra_Cox.

Death has transformed former ballerina Anya Truss into a vila--an alluring wind nymph--but her need for revenge has kept her trapped on the riverbank where she was drowned. Now, after fifty years of waiting, she finally has a chance to break free by getting even with her cruel dance instructor, the man who betrayed her and broke her heart. But for her plan to work, she must place her trust in a handsome but unlikely ally.

Straight-laced police investigator Sergey Yuchenko has spent years searching for the father he never knew, and he finally has a solid lead. Problem is, that lead comes in the form of a ghost--a gorgeous but stubborn vila with destructive powers she can't control. Anya's graceful beauty awakens a desire in Sergey like he's never felt before. But when past secrets are brought to light, the lovers will have to face an evil that could tear them apart forever.

Meet the Author:

I grew up on the Florida panhandle, swimming with alligators, climbing oak trees and diving for scallops…when I could pull myself away from a book. As a child, I hid my Nancy Drew novels inside the church bulletin and read mysteries during sermons—an irony that is not lost on me when I preach these days.

I’m an Episcopal Priest and student of the worlds’ religions. I believe stories are the best way to explore human truths, and I’m passionate about the deep ties between spirituality and sexuality. Some people think it’s strange for a minister to write romance, but it is perfectly natural to me, because the human desire for love is at the heart of every romance novel and God made people with that desire.

I write paranormal, historical and contemporary romance and live with my husband and two children in San Francisco. My literary agent is the fabulous Becca Stumpf of the Prospect Agency.

Inside the Book:

Title: Sweet Last Drop

Author: Melody Johnson

Release Date: April 26, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Format: Ebook

Trust No One

Cassidy DiRocco knows the dark side intimately—as a crime reporter in New York City, she sees it every day. But since she discovered that she’s a night blood, her power and potential has led the dark right to her doorway. With her brother missing and no one remembering he exists, she makes a deal with Dominic Lysander, the fascinating master vampire of New York, to find him.

Dominic needs the help of Bex, another master vampire, to keep peace in the city, so he sends Cassidy to a remote, woodsy town upstate to convince her—assuming she survives long enough. A series of vicious “animal attacks” after dark tells Cassidy there’s more to Bex and her coven than anyone’s saying. That goes double for fellow night blood Ian Walker, the tall, blond animal tracker who’s supposed to be her ally. Walker may be hot-blooded and hard-bodied, but he’s hiding something too. If Cassidy wants the truth, she’ll have to squeeze it out herself… every last drop.

Meet the Author:

Melody Johnson is the author of the gritty, urban fantasy Night Blood series set in New York City. The first installment, The City Beneath, was a finalist in several Romance Writers of America contests, including the “Cleveland Rocks” and “Fool For Love” contests. Melody graduated magna cum laude from Lycoming College with her B.A. in creative writing and psychology. While still earning her degree, she worked as an editing intern for Wahida Clark Presents Publishing. She was a copyeditor for several novels, including Cheetah by Missy Jackson; Trust No Man II by Cash; and Karma with a Vengeance by Tash Hawthorne. When she isn’t working or writing, Melody can be found hiking the many woodsy trails in her Pennsylvania hometown or sunning and swimming at the beach.

Dog Days In The Fortunate Islands is an ideal read for those contemplating retirement, moving to the Canary Islands or an extended trip through Spain. The book will also appeal to any dog lovers and holidaymakers who enjoy an interesting story.

On the brink of retirement, John and his wife Sally are determined to end a life at the grindstone in grimy and wet Lancashire. Together with their beloved Jack Russell/Staffie cross, Freddie, a rescue dog from the local RSPCA, they embark on the journey of a lifetime and relocate to the island of Tenerife.

Selling up, they make the move to the north of Tenerife, a part almost unknown to the casual tourist – their very own hidden paradise. Relaxed and surrounded by stunning coastal views, life in their new home, set amidst orange groves and banana plantations, is very different indeed! The weather is fantastic, the temperature idyllic, the people so friendly and the cost of living outrageously low… what more could they ask for?

Adjusting to life abroad, and all of the costs that come with it, are explained in the book – from buying a new home and sorting out living taxes, to integrating into the local community and taking the dreaded Spanish driving test. Follow John and Sally as they learn a new language and take on a couple of new hobbies, while Freddie takes off on some unbelievable (but true!) exploits with his new canine friends.

With a colourful collection of characters, travelling anecdotes that stretch from the English Midlands and all the way through mainland Spain in an old classic car, and some not so perfect moments that bring us back down to earth from time to time, this is a series of adventures that you will not want to miss.

Dog Days In The Fortunate Island Is Available in eBook & Paperback Format at Most Online Retailers.

From April 29th through May 3rd the eBook is available at a huge discount! You can get this ebook for $1.99 at most good retailers!

I was born in 1943 at Derby Royal Infirmary, a war baby, and for the first 18 years of my life my home was in Ashby de la Zouch, an old market town in Leicestershire. I was sent away to become a boarder at Kings Mead Preparatory School, Seaford, and then Rugby School. Having been at Rugby has certainly stood me in good stead throughout my life, and I could not have asked for better.

John

I am still not quite sure exactly how it came about (perhaps because my maternal grandfather was a solicitor) but I suddenly found myself articled to a firm of solicitors in Ashby. It was not a happy period for anyone concerned, although I have to concede that I learned a lot during my time there, but it was clear that I was too much of a free spirit to enjoy being chained to a desk for a pittance each week. The only highlights to my miserable years as a bookworm were trips out to criminal courts or prisons. I must have been to every prison in the Midlands.

Concurrently, I was commissioned into the Territorial Army and still proudly display my certificate signed by HM The Queen.

When my parent’s marriage began to founder, I relocated to West Sussex to help out at their latest venture, a country hotel. My few weeks’ offer of help (neither of my parents having even the slightest knowledge of, or interest in, the hotel industry) turned into some 35 years, with me taking over from them, changing and extending the place considerably along the way. My restaurant in the hotel held 2 AA Rosettes for food for a number of years right up until I sold the business.

My son Marcus, my pride and joy, was born in St. Richards Hospital, Chichester. As I write this, he has turned 41, and he is an accountant. Married to Tina, they have provided me with two lovely grandchildren, Josh and Sam.

After I sold my hotel I moved up to Lancashire, where I had met and later married Sally. We

Sally

started a new business together, a commercial legal services company, something completely new for both of us. During that time we encountered a puppy, Freddie, a Jack Russell/Staffie cross, who we “rescued” from the RSPCA and fell in love with.

We sold out on a high after some 10 years, enabling us to seriously consider the move to Tenerife. With nothing to hold us back, we made the life-changing move, and have not regretted it. Did I think that retirement would be relaxation in the sunshine? Far from it! I think that I have never been so busy, and the latest of my activities is becoming restaurant reviewer for the main Canary Islands newspaper. I was flattered to have been invited to the position. Our exploits in Tenerife with Freddie form the backbone of the stories in my first book.

Freddie

My second book is an entirely different proposition, a different genre, and written in a completely different style. When a cache of letters, written by my father to my mother during the years of World War 2 eventually came in to my possession, I concluded that I should share some of them with a wider audience. In between a selection of those letters is traced the story of his life over those five long war years. It fascinated me to learn of the day to day life of an enlisted man – and later officer – as the war progressed to its inevitable conclusion, though finally without him as he languished behind the wire in a POW camp in Germany after having been captured on the battlefields of Normandy. And so his story has finally been written and my second book has now made it into print.

The Artisan curse is broken. Souls trapped in a mysterious otherworld called The Void are finally released. Now, Raven Weathersby, Gideon Maddox, and Cole Wynter can finally move on with their lives...or so they thought. If the ancient magic is truly dead, then why are mystical fires plaguing Gideon at every turn? What accounts for Raven’s frightening visions of her dead mother? And who is the beautiful, tortured girl haunting Cole’s dreams?

Last year, a group of lonely teens sacrificed secrets, battled the supernatural, and faced their own demons to set one another free. Yet six months later, the heart of evil still beats within The Void. And the trio is forced to face the horrific truth: that their only way out is to go back in.

The Paladins completes this eerie YA Southern Gothic where loyalties are tested, love is challenged, and evil seeks them on the ultimate battlegrounds—in their minds, their souls, and their hearts.

Gideon’s arms slide around my waist as I stand at the kitchen sink with my snack. I’m trying to work up the courage to tell him what happened in my room this morning. All day I’ve avoided delivering the news that may derail our careful plans for fall semester.

Warm breath lingers on the back of my head sending delicious chills though my body. His fingers gently brush the skin on my stomach beneath my blouse, and I fight the urge to turn and leap into his arms. The guy emits more dangerous energy than a leaky power plant. Still, I hold back.

I was the one who wanted to go slowly. Like, first gear slow. Maybe just idle. Call me old fashioned, but I always dreamed that my first time sleeping with a guy would be with my husband on our honeymoon. I still want that, and him, but I just turned eighteen.

The muscles under his golden skin flex as his arms tighten around me. How does he make me feel safe and nervous at the same time? His nose parts the hair above my ear. Steady breaths, finally drive me to place my cookie on the counter and face him. My hands slide around his neck, fingers playing with the silky curls at his nape. I love the spicy scent of black licorice that’s distinctly his.

He lowers his head, nose rubbing mine before he lets his lips drift over my mouth. Whisper soft, his hesitant touch is an excruciating tease. Always, there’s curiosity and the promise of more to come.

My fingers untangle at his neck and drop to the bulge in his biceps. I can’t help enjoying the way they bunch when he holds me. My legs lose strength, knees weaken. There’s every possibility the boy will kiss me into unconsciousness. Can that happen? He must know because he holds me so close I hardly have the air to speak.

OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES:

They say death can be beautiful. But after the death of her mother, seventeen-year-old Raven Weathersby gives up her dream of becoming a fashion designer, barely surviving life in the South Carolina lowlands.

To make ends meet, Raven works after school as a seamstress creating stunning works of fashion that often rival the great names of the day.

Instead of making things easier on the high school senior, her stepdad's drinking leads to a run in with the highly reclusive heir to the Maddox family fortune, Gideon Maddox.

But Raven's stepdad's drying out and in no condition to attend the meeting with Maddox. So Raven volunteers to take his place and offers to repay the debt in order to keep the only father she's ever known out of jail, or worse.

Gideon Maddox agrees, outlining an outrageous demand: Raven must live in his home for a year while she designs for Maddox Industries' clothing line, signing over her creative rights.

Her handsome young captor is arrogant and infuriating to the nth degree, and Raven can't imagine working for him, let alone sharing the same space for more than five minutes.

But nothing is ever as it seems. Is Gideon Maddox the monster the world believes him to be? And can he stand to let the young seamstress see him as he really is?

Born in Ohio, I lived next to my grandfather’s horse farm until the fourth grade. Summers were about riding, fishing and make-believe, while winter brought sledding and ice-skating on frozen ponds. Most of life was magical, but not all.

I struggled with multiple learning disabilities, did not excel in school. I spent much of my time looking out windows and daydreaming. In the fourth grade (with the help of one very nice teacher) I fought dyslexia for my right to read, like a prince fights a dragon in order to free the princess locked in a tower, and I won.

Afterwards, I read like a fiend. I invented stories where I could be the princess… or a gifted heroine from another world who kicked bad guy butt to win the heart of a charismatic hero. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that? Later, I moved to Florida where I continued to fantasize about superpowers and monsters, fabricating stories (my mother called it lying) and sharing them with my friends.

Then I thought I’d write one down…

Hooked, I’ve been writing ever since. I write historical, contemporary, urban fantasy, adventure, and young adult romances. I love strong heroines, sweeping tales of mystery and epic adventure… which must include a really hot guy. My writing is proof you can work hard to overcome any obstacle. Don’t give up. I say, if you write, write on!

Detective Aidan Calloway is rock-solid strong. He's a man of justice—loyal to his friends, family, and job—even if it requires bending a law…or two. He shields himself behind an abrasive, fearless facade, until a phone call one night chips his armor and throws his perfectly planned, hollow life into a tailspin.Jessie Vega is the epitome of optimism. His carefully crafted attitude of hope and positivity protects him from a past filled with too much pain. When a ghost from a dark time resurfaces and nearly breaks him, he must tap into his inner strength or risk losing everything he's worked so hard to build.But Jessie can't do it alone. He must fight to break through Aidan's ironclad defenses to reveal the heart of the man hiding beneath the tough surface and mend his damaged spirit. Only then can they truly heal and become strong enough to battle the demons that haunt them and threaten their chance to finally be together.——--***This book contains scenes and subject matter some readers may find distressing.***——--Although part of a series, this book can be read as a stand-alone.

"A beautiful story of love making you whole again!" - Bike Book Reviews

"Heartbreakingly beautiful" - Amazon Customer Review

"As always the wait was worth it and Jaime delivers yet another stunning but very different book." - Sinfully Gay Romance Book Reviews

"So…where are we going?" Jessie asked, returning the items to the pantry and the refrigerator. He hadn't expected Aidan to arrive home early, and he definitely hadn't expected him to announce a dinner excursion, especially not after spending so much time on the couch lately, having far too much fun to want to escape the house.

"Wherever you want to go is fine. You're always cooking and you stay in the house unless you've got an appointment, so I figured a break would be nice. To get out, do something…different. As long as I can pick a steak, I'm fine with any place you want to go."

"You choose the spot. Surprise me," Jessie said.

"Okay."

"So where are we going?"

"Uh, I thought you said to surprise you?"

Jessie bit his lip, trying to disguise the humor at seeing Aidan squirm. He figured Aidan was probably getting a little edgy lately, always giving in and letting Jessie get his way each time. "I need to know what to wear."

"A suit. Definitely a suit. A dark one. Either the blue one or the charcoal."

"So it's a date?" Jessie asked, trying to contain the flutter in his chest. He cherished their time hanging out on the couch or back porch but going out in public together? Definitely one heck of a milestone.

"Uh, okay," Aidan said with a pinched expression.

"It's not a date?"

Aidan rubbed the back of his neck. "If you want to do something else too, we can."

"We don't have to do anything else. Dinner's fine."

"Okay. So it's not a date?" Aidan said, scratching his stubble.

Jessie hid a grin at Aidan's confusion. "How about you tell me. Do you want it to be a date?"

"I want to take you out to dinner. I want you to wear a suit, because you look hot as hell in them. If that makes it a date, then cool. It's a date. But if I have to do something else to make it a date, like a movie or…fuck if I know…a walk on the beach or something. Let me know and we'll do that too."

Jessie wrapped his arms around Aidan's neck. "Where did you get that from?"

"Google."

"I think you better leave the research to me." Jessie chuckled.

"As long as you wear your suit." Aidan snaked his arms around Jessie's waist and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"You like soft balls and hard stubble. I think you're confused regarding what you want."

"I know exactly what I want. I want all of you, soft and hard and everything in between."

Jaime Reese is the alter ego of an artist who loves the creative process of writing, just not about herself. Fiction is far more interesting. She has a weakness for broken, misunderstood heroes and feels everyone deserves a chance at love and life. An avid fan of a happy ending, she believes those endings acquired with a little difficulty are more cherished.

The Men of Halfway HouseA Better Man A Hunted Man A Restored Man A Mended Man …More to come…

The small town of Rivelou is hiding secrets, and they are about to claw their way to the surface.

Ana Dugan used to enjoy her nighttime walks through her quaint college town, but all of that changes when a handsome stranger rescues her from an attack. Sheâs not sure who she should be more afraid of the four legged beast who attacked her or the two legged one who saved her. She narrowly escapes, but soon learns that others werenât so lucky.

When another man enters her life claiming heâs there to protect her sheâs not sure who she should trust, the wolf or the hunter.

Ana breathed inthe early autumn air as she headed away from the university and onto the darker streets of the neighboring suburb. It was an older neighborhood, built in the 1920âs when the town of Rivelou had begun to spread from its central location on the river across the railroad tracks to the north. This particular section of the town had been built for the railroad workers, with tiny shotgun houses lined up on even tinier lawns.

As Ana crossed Roosevelt Avenue and headed into her own neighborhood, the streetlights ended and the sidewalk became lighted only by an occasional porch light or walk light. She loved walking home from her night classes at this time of the year. The air, while it could not yet be called crisp, had lost its summer sultriness, a welcome change from the blistering heat of a Midwest summer.

And these walks home after her night classes were one of the few times during her week when she could be truly alone. No bosses, no teachers, not even Sophie chattering away in her ear. Sheâd been a mom long enough not to feel guilty at enjoying a a little time alone without her child. Her thirteen-year-old daughter was the light of her life, but that didnât mean she couldnât enjoy a little time by herself, too.

As she headed down Harlan Street, farther from the more heavily trafficked avenue, the street became even darker. It was too soon for most of the leaves to have fallen, they were just beginning to turn red on this last week in September and they were so thick on the trees that they hid the full moon. Part of the charm of the old neighborhood was the beautiful, large old maples and oaks, but their roots also tore up the sidewalks. Ana tripped on one of those cracks, and shook her head in disgust. How could she always trip in the same spot, night after night? It wasnât as if she hadnât memorized the bad spots in the sidewalk after years of walking this way.

She smiled; only one more year of classes and, with luck, she wouldnât be taking this same walk anymore. She would have her teaching degree, be able to quit her job as an admin at the university, and start a new life with her daughter, maybe somewhere else. She would enjoy teaching, preferably high school, but sheâd take whatever grade she could get to start. Sophie would miss her friends; they would both miss their family. Theyâd come back a lot to visit. She was sure of thatâher family, particularly her grandfather, would certainly insist on it. But it would be nice to start over. Of course, Jonathan, her ex, would probably object if she moved even to the next county. The one good thing she could say for the man was he always fulfilled his obligations to their daughter, even if it was only because he thought about running for political office someday and didnât want to ruin his reputation with the other lawyers and judges in Rivelou.

She shook her head as if to change the direction her daydreams had taken her and sidestepped another large crack in the sidewalk. She wasnât going to let thoughts of Jonathan ruin a lovely evening. Maybe after Sophie was in bed sheâd have a chance to get outside again and enjoy the full moon and beautiful weather. She wouldnât indulge herself in a run; she couldnât leave Sophie alone, but some time out in her backyard to appreciate the full moon would be good.

She stopped and looked around, working to regain her pleasure in the evening, when she heard a low growl nearby.

A dog? No one on this block had a dog big enough to make that sort of sound. That growl had definitely come from something larger than Mrs. Ahearnâs yappy little Pomeranian. She began to walk more quickly. Only a half block until she turned onto Sycamore, then another half block until she arrived at her own home.

The growl came again. She tucked her purse more securely on her left shoulder, her computer bag on her right, and doubled her pace. There were no lights on at any of the houses on that part of the block, and of course, the moon took that moment to hide behind a cloud. She took a deep breath and tried to walk at a steady pace. She wouldnât run, even though she could hear the animal behind her as she rounded the corner. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her own porch light on, as well as that of her neighbors, Joe and Lindsey, who kept Sophie evenings when Ana had class. Only a few more steps to safety.

She was almost in front of her own door when she heard the rush of paws with nails clicking on the sidewalk. With a howl, the animal knocked her down.

She held her computer case in front of her face, âTake a bite of that, you nasty beast,â she said, pushing the case at its huge, dark head. It was all teeth and glowing eyes as it stood over her, growling. âWhat do you want?â she shouted.

Though it had her on the ground, it didnât make a move, just stood gazing at her. Somehow she sensed if she did move, it would strike. She had to do something. She drew a deep breath and prepared to scream when she heard someone running up behind her.

âHey, you, get back! Get back!â She turned her head and saw a man come running toward her and the slobbering animal. The man grabbed a stick from the ground and waved it at the animal as he rushed forward. âBack! Get back, you ugly beast!â he shouted again, striking the creature who turned, snarling at him. They stared intently at each other for a moment when the dog finally dodged the stick and lunged to take a bite out of the man.

The man got in a couple of good blows before the dog suddenly grabbed the stick, tugged at it, and knocked the man to the ground. Ana decided it was time to take action. She fumbled through her purse as the dog leaned back on its haunches preparing to strike. Just before he lunged on the fallen man Ana found her can of mace and hit the dog in the face with the noxious spray. With howl of pain, it ran into the darkness.

Several more porch lights suddenly popped on to light the night, and the street was filled with neighbors coming to check on the unusual commotion.

âAre you all right?â her rescuer, still gasping and out of breath, asked. âIt didnât bite you, did it?â He made his way to his feet and held his hand out to her.

âNo, no. Iâm fine,â Ana replied as she was suddenly bowled over by an armful of an anxious thirteen-year-old. âMom, mom, are you okay?â Sophie asked.

âWhat happened?â her neighbor, Joe, questioned her at the same moment.

âIt was a dog. A huge one. Iâve never seen it before. This man chased it away,â she said, turning to the man who was wiping his face with a handkerchief and coughing.

âI think you were the one who chased it away. Wish youâd had a little better aim with the mace, but under the circumstances I donât think I can complain,â he said between coughs.

âHey, are you okay?â Joe asked, looking the man over. âYouâd better come in and let us take a look at you. My wifeâs a nurse. She can check you out. Just a whiff of that stuff can be torture on the eyes.â

âNo, Iâm fine, Iâll â¦â he protested, but Ana cut him off.

âI insist. If it wasnât for you, Iâd have been bitten by that animal.â

âI think weâd better make a police report,â Joe said as they headed for his house. âJoe Lessing,â he added, holding out his hand to the stranger. âAnd this is our neighbor, Ana Dugan, and her daughter, Sophie.â

âGood to meet you. Chris Spier,â the man said, shaking hands with Joe as they reached the porch. At the top of the steps he turned to Ana, where, under the porch light, she got her first real look at her rescuer.

He was just shy of six feet, with the build of teddy bear, the kind youâd like to give a big hug and take to bed with you, Ana thought, then inwardly blushed. Where had that thought come from? She didnât have time for men. It wasnât that he was soft, or fat, she added, mentally adjusting her initial teddy bear image. He was muscular, and he had a kind face, soft brown eyes, shaggy light brown hair and beard, both of which needed a trim. There was something about his worn khakis and wrinkled plaid flannel shirt that said he wasnât used to being cared for.

âIâm so sorry if I hurt you,â Ana said, taking his hand. Chris held onto it until Joe said, âCome on in. You need to wash off that mace.â

He guided Chris into a small, warm living room and back to a kitchen where Sophie was animatedly, if with little accuracy, describing the incident to Joeâs wife and daughter.

About the Author:

Karen Hodges Millerâs fascination with werewolves, vampires, witches, ghosts, and all things supernatural began with the childhood classics. She gobbled up everything from The Haunting of Hill House to the Narnia series, from Dracula to Rebecca. As a writer, however, she stuck to non-fiction; working as a newspaper and magazine reporter and editor and in 2004 opening her own publishing company.

She has written several books for authors on the subject of writing and publishing. The Patient Wolf is her first fiction novel and of course, it features a very sexy werewolf.

When paranormal expert Robyn Wise is offered an outrageous sum of money to cure a boy who is turning into a dead tree, she's very sceptical. A politician ready to pay that much to make his son stop growing branches instead of hair? Come on! She's more likely to be abducted by aliens. This is a trap. Or much worse. And, of course, it's much worse.

The child is turning into a dark portal, created by a powerful entity determined to absorb Fairyland's power. This means that not only queen Titania and her court are in danger, but the very balance of the magic fluxes.

Robyn'd rather stick a pencil in her own eye but, to learn how to destroy the portal, she has to sneak into the Wizardry Council, a place full of wizards who are hiding something—though it’s certainly not their dislike of her.

There, she discovers a terrible secret that could help to overthrow Fairyland's enemies for good, but puts her in the midst of an ancient and deadly war, and not as a bystander, but as the main target.

Faced with being alone in the middle of nowhere at night, the true Londoner doesn’t lose her head but takes a deep breath, smoothes her jacket, and goes in search of a bobby or a black cab. Only foreigners freak out in such circumstances. Londoners, on the other hand, being the most British of all British people, never ever freak out. Still, when you are a paranormal expert who’s in a deserted area of the Docks and are supposed to heal a werewolf with the aid of a shaman who hasn’t shown up, I’m afraid the only reasonable reaction is to…“Run!” Mr Wilson growls, getting worryingly hirsute. He has a point. A skinny girl in her twenties is no match for a werewolf, and I don’t think that telling him I’m a dog person would make much of a difference. Trouble is that he’s standing between me and my car, so my only option is to run in the opposite direction. My feet sink into the sand of the Thames’ shore, the river a creepy black ribbon untouched by the full moon’s rays. It takes what looks like ages to cross the sand and reach the building site a hundred yards away. I should have never trusted that damn shaman. How could I have been so stupid? A long howl fills the air. My client has now fully transformed. In a second he will pick up my scent and hunt me down. ​

Louisa Klein lives in the UK but was born in Germany and brought up in Southern Europe by a German dad and an Italian and French mum, which made her a little confused at first. She has a degree in Medieval Studies and a postgraduate one in Marketing. She’s been working in publishing on and off since she was 17 and currently is a freelancer and an Urban Fantasy writer. At night she puts on a mask and fights British crime. She gets very little sleep.

Sophia Stone is a widow on the brink of an empty nest, stuck in an unsatisfying job managing the vineyard for a mediocre Napa vintner. Faced with an uncertain future she wonders how do you choose between making a living and making a life? Between protecting your heart and sharing it? Five years ago, after her husband was killed in an accident, Sophia put her heart and dreams on ice to care for those around her. Now her home, her dreams, and her family’s legacy grapes are threatened by the greed of the new money moving into the Valley. Sophia has a choice—give up and let them take what is hers, or risk everything fighting a battle everyone says she can’t win.

Nico Treviani has one goal in life: make brilliant wine. A woman would be an unwanted distraction. So, while recognized as one of Napa’s premier vintners, Nico finds himself alone… until his brother’s death drops not one, but two women into his life—his thirteen-year-old twin nieces. In an instant, Nico gains a family and loses his best friend and partner in the winemaking business. Struggling to care for his nieces, Nico accepts a job as head winemaker for Avery Specter, one of the new-money crowd. And he learns the hard way that new money doesn’t stick to the old rules.

About the Author-

My mother tells me I was born a very long time ago, but I’m not so sure—my mother can’t be trusted. These things I do know: I was raised in Texas on barbeque, Mexican food and beer. I am the author of WANNA GET LUCKY? (A NY Times Notable Crime Novel and double RITA™ Finalist), its five sequels, LUCKY BREAK, the latest and just out, and four between-the-books novellas. Currently I’m stretching my writer muscles working on a women’s fiction/contemporary romance series set in Napa—the first novel, CRUSHED, is out March 8th--a dark thriller, a romantic suspense series featuring a female helicopter pilot, as well as the next Lucky adventure—all very different projects. So, if you see me with a glass of Champagne in hand, you’ll understand. I can usually be found at the bar, but also at www.deborahcoonts.com.

Sophia Stone knew life held few absolutes: good wine is art, good Italian cooking is passion, a good child is a gift, and good news never comes in a certified letter.“You sure this is for me, Tito?” she asked the postman who thrust an envelope toward her. When she tilted her head she could read the word “Certified,” stamped in red like a guilty verdict across the front.A heavy-set man, Tito had a ready smile and an easy, engaging manner. Each day while delivering mail, he also traversed the valley searching for tidbits of gossip with the zeal of an Army battalion scouring the countryside for insurgents. St. Helena was a small community where the denizens believed mining each other’s business was an inalienable right granted on the theory that without the titillation everyone would fall over dead from boredom. “Yeah, looks like it’s from Charlie. Certified, too.” Tito didn’t have the decency to hide his interest as he mopped his face with a dirty handkerchief then stuffed it back into his rear pocket. The wiping didn’t help—a sheen of sweat still covered his ruddy cheeks. August had been hot with no break in sight.Sophia eyed him. She wouldn’t put it past him to have already steamed open the letter, a thought that made her a bit nauseous. Why had she thought a small town in Napa Valley would be a good place to hide?“From Charlie, you say?” Keeping her hands in her pockets, Sophia tilted her head further and tried to double-check the sender’s address. Then she looked him in the eye. “Any idea what it’s about?”Tito looked like a bully when his bluff was called. He shrugged—an exaggerated movement that seemed like the shifting of a mountain—but a noncommittal answer, leaving Sophia certain whatever was in that letter would be spread around the valley and germinating in imaginations as rapidly as seeds on a spring wind.At an impasse, Sophia and Tito stood there, the letter between them, Sophia delaying the inevitable. Unfortunately, with a dinner to cook and a cake in the oven, Sophia didn’t have time to see if she could outlast him. So, with a sour downturn to her mouth and a knot in her stomach, Sophia took the letter.Tito motioned for her to flip the envelope over. “There on the back, that green card? You need to sign that.” Handing her a pen, he waited for her to sign, then tore off the return receipt, pocketing it.Confirming the return address, Sophia gave him a distracted wave as he climbed back into his truck. “Thanks, Tito.” A perfunctory nicety.“Sure thing, Ms. Stone.” In a shower of gravel, he gunned the mail truck back through the vineyard down the winding driveway leading to the valley floor. Sophia glanced up as the trees enveloped him and her normal quiet smothered the sound, wiping away all vestiges of his presence.Except for the letter.From her landlord.At least the return address was his—and Sophia was certain he hadn’t moved from the corner lot at the bottom of her hill. She could probably throw a bottle and hit his roof, with a little help from the wind.Charlie had owned this patch of five acres on the top of Howell Mountain since his parents had died in a small plane heading up from L.A. over thirty years ago. Sophia had lived here for fifteen of those years and, through feast and famine, the ups and downs of the wine industry, she’d never received a certified letter from Charlie. In fact, she couldn’t remember having receivedanyletter from Charlie. Their business dealings were usually hammered out at the kitchen table over a bottle of wine and sealed with a handshake. Napa Valley was a handshake kind of place.Sophia reached up and rubbed the worn piece of iron Daniel had nailed to one of the porch supports.Tocco Ferro. Her family had been steeped in the ways of the Old Country; her husband had become a believer. Touch iron to ward off bad luck. Being a bit too pragmatic, Sophia didn’t necessarily believe, but it couldn’t hurt. God knew she’d had enough rough patches. With a finger, she traced the initials the four of them had carved in the porch support. Time had whittled their number to one … almost.Tapping the white legal-sized envelope on her open palm, she squinted against the sun as she looked out over her small patch of heaven. A rolling hillside with a couple of acres under vine, grapes from the Old Country, grafts of her grandfather’s original vines. A small garden flanked the house. Her own private retreat sheltered from prying eyes by a ring of trees.The farmhouse had been billed as a “fixer-upper.” She and Daniel had packed up the kids, moving up valley from the Bay Area, and spent the next several years making the remnants of a house into a home. They’d bribed the kids into helping by letting them paint their own rooms. Dani had picked pink, hot pink. As if the view from his window wasn’t enough, Trey had chosen wood paneling and a bucolic scene of vineyards on one wall. When he’d moved away for college, Sophia hadn’t had the heart to change it. Perhaps she’d harbored the hope that he would come home someday. He hadn’t. Now Dani was poised to fly.Soon Sophia would be alone, the house emptied of youthful buoyancy. The prospect filled her with dread. Stripped of purpose, she half-feared she would grow brittle like the old vines until the weight of loneliness shattered her into bits and pieces of who she used to be. When Daniel had been killed, she’d had the kids. Now the false friend of sadness stayed ever near, her house echoing with memories. But memories didn’t make a life any more than the past made a future. However, the past was her tether. Without it, Sophia felt she would float away like a balloon loosed to the sky, growing ever smaller until vanishing from sight.While the house cradled her past, the rows of vines just reaching their peak marching down the hill across her two acres held her dreams. Her grapes, started from grafts from her grandfather’s stock back in Italy, each juice-filled orb bursting with hope, with promise. Her life’s work hanging on the verge of a promise.Through the screen door, the aroma of a cake on the verge of disaster wafted into Sophia’s consciousness, and she turned and bolted for the kitchen, the screen clattering shut behind her. With a dishrag to protect her hand, she opened the oven. The smell of chocolate carried on billows of steam engulfed her. She waved it away, squinting through the heat. She deposited the cake pan on the stainless steel countertop. Pressing her thumb lightly on the cake, she let out her breath in a long rush. Just in time.Her mother loved chocolate cake. Sophia planned to visit her this afternoon. Perhaps a peace offering would soften her harsh moods of late.Sophia spied the letter, pristine white and accusing, laying casually on the sideboard where she had tossed it in her haste. Without further thought, she stuffed it in the old cookie jar on the countertop and crammed on the lid. That cookie jar held a lifetime of happiness and heartache—her marriage license, the kids’ birth certificates, Daniel’s death certificate and obituary—it could handle the letter as well. Whatever problem lurked inside that envelope, it could wait.Leaving the cake to cool, Sophia strode through the door to the porch, pushing through the screen and down the steps. The grapes, fragrant in the midday sun, neared perfection—harvest a few days away, at best. Sophia had plans for those grapes, unique varietals that would make unusual yet palatable wine … if she could just figure out the last piece. She was close, though, closer than ever before. Grapes—creating them, growing them, cajoling them to trust her—were her true passion. Unfortunately dreams didn’t pay the bills, as her mother never missed a chance to bludgeon her with that little bit or ironic reality. So Sophia had to sell her skills to pay the bills and now found her days consumed with tending to grapes owned by Pinkman Vineyards, one of the vast commercial operations in the valley, which turned her carefully nurtured grapes into mediocre table wine.She walked the rows testing the scent once more … the perfume of near perfection as her grandfather called the sweetness of grapes. Memories filtered through the shadows of time like wraiths, translucent, elusive … fleeting. When she quieted, stilled her mind and opened her heart, Sophia could hear his voice, rich and deep, his laugh, and smell the scent of earth and sun that clung to him, the wine on his breath. But, she couldn’t see him anymore. Like sun on paper, time had weathered and faded her mental pictures until only shadows remained, as if the present was slowly erasing the past.Worry dogged her, the letter and its unknown message on her mind as she tended to each vine, brushing back the canopy, weighing the clusters. This far along in the season not much remained to do; nature would run her course. This year Sophia had planted wildflowers and grasses under the vines to entice the bugs and keep them off the fruit. The plan had worked well, as had her choice to prune more aggressively than normal this past winter. Under her care, her grandfather’s grapes flourished, and just now they were beginning to trust her, to give her their best.This year’s wine had the potential to be the stuff of dreams.At the far end of her property movement across the fence caught Sophia’s attention. Shading her eyes with one hand, she still had to squint against the assault of the sun. Her next-door neighbors had sold their property recently to Specter Wines, a new player with new money. Scuttlebutt had it the owner had made a mint somewhere back east. Sophia shook her head as she watched heavy equipment struggle to tame the hillside, prepare it for planting. These days it seemed just about every rich guy wanted a piece of Napa to cultivate his own grapes, make a signature vintage that would rock the world.As if it was that easy.

There Once Were Stars by Melanie McFarlane Publication Date: April 26, 2016 Publisher: Month9Books

Peace. Love. Order. Dome. That’s the motto that the Order has given the residents of Dome 1618 to live by. Natalia Greyes is a resident of Dome 1618, a covered city protected from the deadly radiation that has poisoned the world outside for four generations. Nat never questioned the Order, until one day she sees a stranger on the outside of the dome. Now Nat wants answers. Is there life outside the dome and if so, what has the Order been hiding from everyone?

Whether it’s uncovering the corruption of the future, or traveling to other worlds to save the universe, Melanie McFarlane jumps in with both hands on her keyboard. Though she can be found obsessing over zombies and orcs from time to time, Melanie has focused her powers on her upcoming YA trilogy: THERE ONCE WERE STARS and her YA urban fantasy series: SUMMONER RISING.

How did you get started writing?

I was raised to be a ferocious reader. My mother always pushed us to read, and my greatest accomplishment was finishing Lord of the Rings in middle school. I dabbled a little during those years in short stories that were more like fan fiction ofLittle House on the Prairie, orNancy Drew. But it wasn’t until I stepped inside my grade ten high school English class, taught by a poet near the end of his teaching career, that I realized I could be a writer. Little did I know his support and belief in me way back then would come to fruition nearly two decades later.

Fast forward twenty years…

About a year before writingThere Once Were StarsI decided to start taking my writing career seriously. I joined my local writer’s guild, started taking workshops, and I even locally self-published a middle grade novel, after working with an editor. I learned there was still so much I had to learn, and starting looking at writing classes, but before I could start an idea popped in my head. It was a thought about a girl lying in the woods, watching the stars glitter across the top of the dome that covered her city…a dome that was put there to protect mankind from a virus that broke out across the entire world…a virus that not only wiped out the infection but also the view of the stars in the skies…and so beganThere Once Were Stars.

About Me

I'm a Texas gal with a wonderful husband, an amazing six year old son, and an adorable newborn baby boy!​My blog is about the best things in life - cooking, books, giveaways and reviews of everyday products! ​This is a PR-friendly blog!!